


custody battle

by lesbianedgeworth



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: ALL the adult confidants but i feel kind of bad tagging iwai tae or kawakami, BLATANT AND EXTREMELY MUSHY FIX FIC ESSENTIALLY., Gen, NO ROYAL SPOILERS, [posts genfic on valentines day] you're welcome, persona 5 protagonist named [truck horn noise], the only ship that matters is tora/lala and i am the ONLY supplier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianedgeworth/pseuds/lesbianedgeworth
Summary: Kid ghosts down the stairs at 5:00 am, sharp, and Sojiro has to hand it to him: he doesn’t make so much as a creak. Unfortunately, he’s expected.sojiro's kid doesn't know how to ask for help. that's okay, though-- this time he doesn't have to. they all have his back.
Relationships: Persona 5 Protagonist & Sakura Sojiro, Yoshida Toranosuke/Lala Escargot
Comments: 11
Kudos: 198
Collections: Quality Persona Fics





	custody battle

**Author's Note:**

> you know what sucks. joker going home at the end of persona 5. that sucks.

Sakura Sojiro is a simple guy.

He appreciates simple things: coffee, crosswords, chilly winter afternoons and warm meals.

He runs his cafe.

He raises his daughter. Well, _Wakaba’s_ daughter, and the reason is a rotten tooth, but who else was gonna do it? Sojiro wouldn’t trust _that guy_ with a house plant, let alone a kid. So. He raises his daughter.

He takes in a delinquent, who isn’t a delinquent, except when he’s a wanted criminal, and...

...it made sense at the time.

It did, dammit!

But even a simple guy can tell when Kid’s hiding something, hard as he wants Sojiro to drop it.

“How have you been doing?”

Kid’s smiles always come easy. Today isn’t an exception. If Sojiro wasn’t looking for it, he might not have noticed his hands-- shaking. “I could use some money,” he says, as obvious a deflection as Sojiro ever gets.

Sojiro hadn’t noticed how often he _did it_ until he’d shown up tortured and half dead, and, well. Digging into that went over his head, more trouble then he’d been willing to approach with what little slack Kid gave him.

... a simple man, and a shit guardian. A shit parent. Dammit.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Keep talking, old man.

“Did Nijima say anything to you?”

Simple men keep simple grudges, and Sojiro wasn’t gonna let _Nijima Sae_ back into his cafe anytime soon. The truce had kept as long as it was necessary: they’d held no illusions about what would happen if “Joker” was caught again, and Futaba was… already in enough trouble, wasn’t she? A _national broadcast_ , like it was easy.

“Anything at all?”

Kid tucks his hands into the pocket of his apron-- Sojiro’s apron-- expression not wavering an inch. “Don’t worry,” he says. _Drop it_ , he means. _Let’s have whatever garbage Futaba picks up from the corner store, like the sky didn’t just rain blood, like I didn’t just kill a god, like the floor isn’t about to drop out on all of us._

 _Drop it,_ Wakaba had meant, and he did--

The top of the speech comes easy. _We’ve gotta be able to rely on each other,_ in one breath. _Honestly? I don’t think you were in the wrong_ , in the other. Special Agent Sakura would have had opinions on the fiasco. Sakura Sojiro, civilian, is divorced enough to see the kid's point. Sakura Sojiro, parent, couldn’t be prouder.

...the bottom of the speech, well--

“Not like this is returning the favor, but I’ll keep you safe ‘til March rolls around.” Hoo boy. “...and, well. If we can-- if you want to, I could talk to your parents about after.” Sojiro can count the conversations he’s had with _those_ people on the fingers of one hand-- It won’t be hard, he thinks. Some people shouldn’t have children. “Finish up high school in the same city, at least, if Shujin doesn’t work out. With that gang of yours, maybe Futaba, if she’s really serious about it.”

The smile flickers.

“Well, you don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna, but remember-- I’m on your side.” Again. Flicker. “That’s all I’ve gotta say.”

Futaba’s timing is impeccable-- _Cheapo Sojiro!_ , hah, like that wasn’t the prelude to mysterious money from god knows where gently padding the family account _\--_ and Sojiro isn’t… lying, per say. It’s all he has to say, to _him._

The party winds down. Sojiro doesn’t go to sleep, not yet, maybe not tonight at all. He has people to call.

Kid ghosts down the stairs at 5:00 am, sharp, and Sojiro has to hand it to him: he doesn’t make so much as a creak. Unfortunately, he’s expected.

“What.”

“I made a pot,” Sojiro says. Yoshida, at the counter, raises his own mug of blue mountain in greeting-- far enough for Ohya to snatch it out of the air behind him.

She’s as sober as Sojiro’s ever seen her, eyes glittering over the lid of the white ceramic. The rest of them nod in time to Yoshida’s spluttering wheeze: Iwai skulking by the door, Kawakami and Takemi bumping knees at the middle booth, Mifune’s grimy ass draped over his counter, halfway through an explanation of the “Major Whatsit” to an intrigued Lala Escargot.

That last one’s bothering the shit out of him and it’s only been ten minutes, this is a _restaurant_ — her hair is a poor set of curtains to boot. Kid's an unwilling star in this drama, sure, but Sojiro figures he’d prefer his audience not have to strain to see the action.

He could always move… but someone has to man the beans.

Christ. Imagine the anarchy.

“Take a seat, darling.” Lala Escargot gestures elegantly at one of the last empty stools at the counter, boxed between her and Ohya. “You should really be resting, after--” she waves her hand in such a way that manages to convey _well it was raining blood and you shot god_ effortlessly, this woman, jeeze.

Mifune jangles less elegantly, pushing herself to a sitting position before flicking one of her cards at Kid with practiced force. “Hanged man,” whatever that’s supposed to mean, “--aaaand reversed. Tsk.”

Kid sits. He doesn’t look happy about it.

He doesn’t look happy about anything, gaze bouncing from adult to adult like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Fair enough. Takemi had been the last to join their little support group, all of them reeling in the aftermath of his near-death experience, but the majority of it had consolidated by September.

He’d met Lala Escargot first, personally. She’d glided into his Cafe with all the righteous fury of a woman who had the wrong goddamned idea, and he’s… not exactly proud of the fact he’d responded in kind. Bruises. Half answered questions. You could say it was a good thing Kawakami was in on it-- but, well, _Suguru_ hadn’t raised any alarm bells, so maybe not.

“...Is something wrong?”

Now that’s just sloppy. Kid really is off his game.

“Drink your coffee,” Sojiro sighs.

The door rings, chatter cutting off like the parting of the Red Sea.

Prosecutor Nijima Sae. Punctual as ever.

Kid swivels, bitten off curse hanging in the air where Lala Escargot caught it, Toranosuke and Ohya abiding. Mifune, cross legged— _her feet on his counter what the hell—_ fiddles with that deck of hers. Past the bar, Kawakami swings her chin up and over the edge of the seat, while Takemi opts for the more elegant option, craning out the aisle with narrowed eyes.

Iwai’s still skulking in the shadow of the door… Sojiro doesn’t think Nijima’s noticed he’s _right behind her,_ melting into the background like Kid at his sneakiest. She’s got a white-knuckle grip on a shiny silver briefcase, something that looks like an letter (A…?) emblazoned on the side.

And it’s familiar, isn’t it...? Not that she’d brought something like _that_ in before, but…

Whatever.

“...good morning, Sakura,” she says. “I’m... afraid I haven’t been introduced to the rest of you.” Nijima bows past Mifune’s shuffling cards, but the gears turning are visible: Toranosuke is a public figure, infamous as he is, and the rest of them are otherwise identifiable. Confidants. Friends. Adults _,_ as narrowly as Mifune qualifies.

Whatever.

Sojiro isn’t putting up with her shit today, and they’d all agreed to let him take the lead.

“Let’s cut to the chase. You,” he points at Kid, “were about to do something stupid. And _you_ ,” he points at Nijima, “asked him to do it.”

_Flick._

Mifune’s flicking cards at her, one after the other, fluttering to the ground like esoteric french snow.

_Flick._

Le Jugement _._

_Flick._

Le Jugement _._

_Flick._

Still, Le Jugement, and he’s gotta wonder how many decks she cannibalized for the joke.

...Later, she’s picking it all up. Now, Nijima’s doing an admirable job of ignoring it— but she’s icy, not superhuman, and they can all stand to see her squirm.

“He’s informed you of the situation?” she asks.

“He didn’t have too! You think I don’t know that kid well enough to see when he’s hiding something? _Me?”_

Simple grudges.

Startled— or feigning it in an attempt to squirm off the bar— Kid pinwheels, bends in a way that has Sojiros old bones aching, and scoops one of the downed cards. What’s that, _‘le mat’_?

Weren’t they all…?

Nijima takes a step towards the bar. Out of the archway, still dead in Iwai’s crosshairs. The tension in the room rackets up perceivably-- between the _flick flick flick_ of the cards, Ohya looks a half step away from hurling Toranosuke’s mug, a sentiment Sojiro can empathize with. Intensely. And, hey. He can’t say for sure Iwai _isn’t_ packing heat.

(the only unregistered firearm allowed in this cafe is his own but he can deal with that later).

“I see. If you’ll give me a moment to say my piece…?”

‘Course, that’s Kid's cue. “You don’t have to. I didn’t— _ow!_ Ohya, what the hell!” Smacking the self-sacrificial idiot is some kind of public service. Free drinks for a week, or something else he’ll work out later.

“Drink your damn coffee.”

“ _You_ can drink your damn coffee. This isn’t your _lane_ , Ichigo.”

Toranosuke raises a hand and Mifune swings around to stare at him, like she’d forgotten he was there. Nijima disappears behind a smokescreen of blonde hair, god _dammit_ … grit your teeth, Sakura. United front. This is a united front.

“First. Ohya-san, I’m sorry, but that’s _my_ coffee…? And, young man. You know we care about your wellbeing… don’t you? This is ‘our lane’.”

Kawakami pounds the edge of the booth. “He’s _my_ student—“

“—guinea pig—“

“—part timer—“

“—informant—“

“—assistant—“

“—a good kid,” finishes Lala Escargot. The look she levels his ward is enough to get _Sojiro_ sweating, and he isn’t the target. “Oh, darling. We let you grow up too fast, didn’t we?”

“You need to be _safe._ This is how I do that.”

“He’s correct,” Nijima elaborates. “Shido confessed, but without a solid connection between the mental shutdown incidents and the ‘metaverse’... getting a guilty verdict will be difficult. If it were possible, I’d be talking to the— the _true_ _culprit,_ Akechi-kun, but--”

“Dead,” says Kid.

There’s a hole where Sojiro expects the smartass comment to be, but nobody’s laughing. Even Nijima flinched at the reminder… but she’d been close to him, Akechi-kun, hadn’t she?

Guess there’s a heart in there somewhere.

Sojiro doesn’t think Kid had told the rest of the group-- the silence speaks as much as Akechi Goro can’t. Not that he’d told Sojiro _,_ in so many words. Hadn’t needed to. Calling his opinion on the rabid little hitman ‘mixed’ was the understatement of the century, but despite the bullshit he _was_ Kid’s friend.

Had been Kid’s friend.

Had been a kid.

“...That aside. You gonna rest your case on _‘magic cognitive world’_?” The hardest part, when Wakaba was alive, was getting people to take her research seriously. “He can’t even do it anymore!” He assumed. “—the people who take that at face value, they’ve probably seen _proof_ on their own.” And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? “You’re going to throw my kid at the mercy of people who already tried to kill him once.”

“Sakura-san—“ Nijima tries.

“After everything he’s already done,” Sojiro snaps back.

“You aren’t listening.”

“After everything we asked him to do. If they let him out, if his testimony amounts to anything, he’ll always be watched. People like that, they don’t forget.”

Special Agent Sakura wouldn’t.

Nijima runs a talon through her hair, an anxious tick, but Sojiro would lay money down on the hesitation being feigned. This rebuttals been locked and loaded for hours. “He’ll likely be arrested regardless. They all will. His identity's been compromised— you think it’ll be difficult to find all of them? Him, his school friends, _my_ sister, _your_ daughter.”

Futaba. Medjed. Alibaba. Oracle.

Joker.

“ _My_ ward,” Sojiro says. “Did you forget that, Nijima?”

“I didn’t,” she says. “Of course I didn’t. I’m not saying this isn’t unfortunate. But— as it stands, none of us can afford to ignore Shido’s conspiracy.”

“I apologize for the interruption,” and there’s Toranosuke, whose reasons for being here were as much ‘ _prevent a homicide_ ’ as ‘ _protect that kid_ ’. “But Nijima-san… what leads you to believe any of us have any intention of ignoring Masayoshi’s mess? Ah, let me put it another way. This,” he sweeps a hand across Leblanc, “well, this is a diverse crowd, isn’t it? I’d say we cover all walks of life. A teacher, a reporter, a Doctor, even a Ya-- _local business owner_. Excuse me. We’re all adults. Skilled adults, even, with— and excuse me again for not getting to the important part first— _connections_ that span the city. I won’t undersell the threat the United Future Party poses for our safety. For our future. For the futures of our children… but I think I _can_ say that, in cooperation, we can construct solutions to those problems that do _not_ include sacrificing the finest young man I have ever met. ...you could say it’s personal for me, as well. Shido Masayoshi plundered my platform for talking points! And _butchered_ them! He even— did you know he stole my secretary! Ayumi, who— and the corner office! And-- oh, h— bother, I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?”

Sometimes, Sojiro could forget that guy was a politician.

He woulda guessed Kid had too much exposure to Toranosuke’s speechifying to take it straight to the face, but he seems dazed when Lala Escargot speaks up, smooth as butter. “It was well put, Yoshida,” she purrs. Pats Kid’s shoulder— sweet woman, Sojiro supposes, and a smart one, if he tries to make a break for it. “I think we’re all willing to put in the effort… no? For his sake _and_ ours.”

First name basis, huh?

Like he said. _Smooth_.

“WAIT.” Not so smooth that Kid doesn’t pick up on it, making the predicted move off the bar Lala Escargot herself aborts. “Are you two _dating_?”

“Yes,” he says. “And?”

“He’s cute,” adds Lala Escargot. “You’re swerving, Darling. Try again later.”

Sojiro could have almost forgotten Mifune’s grubby hippy ass was all over his counter until she takes it upon herself to remind him— “The lovers,” she declares, whatever _that’s_ supposed to mean. Another Taro-whatsit is tossed unceremoniously Kid’s direction. “I told you.”

Kid ignores her. “Since when have you two been _dating_?”

Longer than anyone imagined they could have been, probably. Whatever you could say about Lala Escargot and Toranosuke Yoshida, ‘ _unable to keep a secret’_ wasn’t one of them.

Nijima breaks the stalemate. “Is now really the time for... gossip?” Sojiro’s pretty sure the exasperation is real, at least. Good. He hopes her headaches shit. “Respectfully, Toranosuke-san—“

(“Nobody in this room is moving on until they tell me EXACTLY when Lala-chan and Toranosuke-san got together.“)

“Respectfully, I’m not willing to take that kind of gamble. We don’t have the time.” She’s too professional to spit anything, but the last sentence has bite _._ “We live in a country ruled by law, Sakura-san. There are channels.”

He’ll repeat himself a hundred times. Sojiro does not like Nijima Sae.

(“Are you _ignoring_ me?”)

When he’d been twenty two he’d sold his soul to the state for respect, romance, identity— Nijima’s some kinda idealist, underneath the grime. So. He gets it _._ She’s trying to play the game fair.

(“Hey!”)

“Respectfully,” he says, because _getting it_ won’t unburn a bridge _,_ “I think you’re full of shit.”

“I can make my own decisions,” Kid snarls, “if you’re done pretending I’m not—“ SCREECH “—also—” SLAM “—right! Here!” BANG.

God save them all from the stupidity of teenagers and old men, and leave it to Kid to backflip his way out of an unpleasant situation. Lala Escargot, arm still outstretched, gaped at the space he’d occupied— Kid himself, bent 90 degrees at the waist, rises from the improvised bow with all the grace of a feral cat.

It wasn’t all that hard to believe he shot a god in the face when you were the one caught in his crosshairs.

“Siddown!” Mifune jerked, swaying hair calling curtains on the show. “We ain’t DONE yet, JEEZE.” Not a hippy after all, a _hick_. Jesus. Still, Sojiro can call it an improvement. Doubly so when the next projectile launched the kid’s direction isn’t a card, it’s a whole damn deck.

The paper snowstorm whirls. One of them sticks in Kid’s rats nest of a hairdo, face up behind an ear-- he jerks his head, once, and the fool laughs, fluttering over the edge.

“Are you done?” Less feral, more drowned, Kid folds his hands behind him and kick-steps in time to a beat only he can hear. Up the aisle. Turn. Down the aisle. Turn. “Good. Excellent. This is so...” kickstep. “I am really fucking sick…” kickstep. “...of people thinking they can _yell at me_ like I’ll—“ kickstep. Pause. “Fuck. Just, listen.”

And they only want to _help him_ , but--

Hell. Fucking it up again, Sakura?

“I think Sae-san’s right,” Kid says.

He raises a hand, some attempt to cut off the wave of discontent sweeping across the room-- to his credit, it does work. Eventually.

“Uh huh. The cat is out of the bag. I signed the confession, they have my _name_ , they have _Shujin_. I think. It’s— fuzzy, I dunno. We can’t risk that.”

Tortured and drugged and charged with a nonsensical crime… but yeah, he did. And they did. Leblanc and Sojiro both had the bruises to prove it.

_DAYS UNTIL RE-ARREST: NOT MANY._

“I know what they want. Their own pet assassin.” Kid pauses. Says, flat, “y’know. _Akechi_.” He scuffs the floor, angry, short, “I can’t do that! So. I die anyway. And then you guys for the hell of it, because they’re pigs and they can.”

He wouldn’t be wrong-- if Sojiro didn’t know a guy. So does Kid, but he could never fault him for trying to keep her out of it.

“Hey,” he sighs. Up, to God, to the ceiling, to the listening devices he knows she blackmailed the delivery boy into planting when she was thirteen. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

_Bzzz._

Every phone in Leblanc goes off at once.

The gidget’s ice cold when Sojiro slips it out of the folds of his apron, placing the phone on the counter. Mifune and Ohya don’t bother reaching for their own, watching the lit-up lock screen (his kids, that cat) with transparent interest. The hick moves to touch it— Sojiro aborts _that_ with a well timed glare, and she twitches back hard enough her legs swing off the counter.

_**UNKNOWN: [Your god has arrived.]** _

(Lala Escargot had, unobserved, slid a few stools down to Toranosuke’s side, the two of them bent over his screen together.)

(Smooth.)

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Speak, mortal.]** _

Kid’s got an iron grip on his cell-phone, quickly retrieved, stock still, knuckles white. “ _Oracle,”_ he hisses to the ceiling, “Go back to sleep. If they— if they _catch you_ \--”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Suggestion: ignored. Don’t patronize me, Joker.]** _

The pacings back, arms swinging up and down with-- well, Sojiro can’t say he’s great at _reading_ the kid, nobody is, but he’d call that nervous energy. If he had to guess.

Kid opens his mouth. Sojiro beats him to it. One-two punch, slam down on any infectious panic before _he_ can think better of the whole thing. Two kids now, Sakura. Just gotta go with it. “You’ve been listening to everything, right?”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [I’m always listening. Try again.]** _

“Sakura, is that--” Nijima begins.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [This is your GOD speaking, Nijima Sae. Do you desire proof? I know you kept** _ **nudes _on your work computer.]_**

Nijima squeaks, mouth flapping silently. Not that Sojiro is paying her much attention, Jesus _Christ_ Futaba. Do they need to have a conversation? Is that a ‘good father’ thing? He wouldn’t know. How was he supposed to know? He should know, jesus.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [ur angles suck bee-tee-dubs. 3/10 have seen better. if ur gonna facetune do it right.]** _

Kid looks equally traumatized, wide eyes locked on the Prosecutor. Well. At least she wasn’t spreading them around.

“This is ridiculous.” Nijima’s trying to regain footing. Sojiro can almost feel bad for her-- this would be a shit conversation to have alone, not surrounded on all sides by enemy forces. Takemi breaks the awkward silence with a staccato _one two three four five_ beat, nails cracking down on the hardwood surface of the booth. “I do not--”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [u kno i have them on me rn right]** _

“Can we move on.”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [(•̀⌄•́)]** _

Toranosuke coughs. Coughs again. “I’m afraid I agree with Nijima-san. This is beneath us.” Sojiro thinks-- wasn’t that guy a politician in the _eighties_? God knows he’d spent enough (mostly unwilling) time in _Masayoshi Shido’s_ company to know hypocrisy when he hears it.

The sweeping, arms-wide gesture that follows is the very picture of congeniality. Sojiro suspects it might have had more of an impact if Ohya wasn’t sent scrambling to avoid the swinging arms-- _what was she even doing behind him??_ \-- filched coffee cup splattering against the ground and spilling over Kid’s expensive looking boots.

“Hey!” Ohya bites.

It’s the kind of disaster he’d expected out of Mifune, not Toranosuke. Mifune, who was… no longer on the counter. He’s got a perfect view of the drama, Lala Escargot eating it up with a hand pressed over her mouth to suppress the laughter-- but no hick. Where’s the hick.

“FUCK!”

That’s Kid.

“Oh, hell-- I didn’t mean to--”

Toranosuke.

“They wouldn’t let you keep them in juvie, anyway...?”

Kawakami.

Ohya slides back to her stool smartass commentary un-said, choking on a laugh-- the kid spins towards his home-room teacher turned co-conspirator with an expression of naked betrayal, like he didn’t have it coming. “These are _louis vuitton_ , Kawakami-sensei.”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [those r fakes and we both kno it]** _

Kid opens his mouth.

_Bzzz._

Futaba cuts him off.

**_UNKNOWN: [Whatever~. Let me prophesize… you need into Shido Masayoshi’s files, right?]_ **

Sojiro bit his tongue on the bile that crept up his throat. Scanned the cafe for the hick, again, on the off chance she’d decided to camp out under the booths. Of all the people to be at the heart of this conspiracy, that guy...

He regretted a lot of things. Going out for drinks with _Assemblyman Shido_ , oh yeah. Keeping his head down when he shouldn’t have. Not saying something to Wakaba, maybe. She’d never regretted Futaba. As much as an old bastard like him is allowed to have an opinion— the answer is obvious. He loves his daughter.

Shido never should have been her problem.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Bad news first. He was paranoid enough to keep the juicy bits on a private server. Totally isolated. No bueno.]** _

Not beneath the booths, but something in the corner of his eye—

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Good news. I’m God.]** _

“Mifune,” Sojiro hissed. “What the _hell_ are you doing with the Blue Mountain.”

Mifune hefts the jar of beans with a casual irreverence that leaves Sojiro wincing. “Did you know some people can read the future in coffee grinds?”

“You drop that, you’re out on your ass.”

“Not _me_ ,” Mifune scoffed-- scuffed the ground behind the counter like she was _considering something_ , Jesus Christ, jar bouncing in her grip. “I think. Never tried it… does fate have something to say, little jar?”

_Bzzz._

Looking meant taking his eyes off Mifune. Sojiro shot her the darkest warning glare he could, a threat and a promise, and--

**_UNKNOWN: [凸ಠ益ಠ)凸]_ **

Oh, Futaba.

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [smh assholes. no respect.]_ **

“I think God should remember,” Sojiro projects to the ceiling, “that somebody still needs to sign for their toy delivery tomorrow.” Mifune has not _dropped his goddamned beans_ in the intervening ten seconds. “And somebody else should remember some fascists smashed _half my inventory_ last week.”

“Ah,” Mifune says. The beans go back where they belong. The _hick_ doesn’t, but if she’s standing on Sojiro’s side of the bar she isn’t getting in the way of the action… he’ll allow it, until he can boot her out for good. He rolls his eyes. Glances out at the other adults-- Kawakami makes a point of meeting his eye _just_ to raise an eyebrow.

What does _she_ know! Christ.

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [hey!!! they arent toys!!! theyre FIGURES!!!]_ **

Back to the phone.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [i mean. God probably understands, Sojiro.]** _

Uh huh.

“Uh huh,” Sojiro sighs.

“Oracle,” Kid snaps. Figuratively. Literally. Sojiro’s never seen him this raw. “We’re stepping in serious shit. _Tell me what you’re doing_.” Turning to Sojiro-- Kid’s not apologetic. Sojiro isn’t, either, meets Kid's gaze head on. “Boss, please.”

That’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves: pacing funny down the aisle, _heel toe heel toe,_ like it’s a performative action and not halfway unconscious. Course, he knows Kid. Could be both.

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [Did you know Medjed and Alibaba are wanted worldwide for cyber-terrorism? Unrelated, dear leader, except that just maybe you need to *shut up* and let the expert HELP YOU.]_ **

“Oracle.”

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [SHhhhhhhhhhh. Most of its already done genius. Security on his *private email* is worse than gmail_ , _stg. Classic n00b trap.]_**

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [and u kno i picked up his main techies name and face earlier on the ship]_ **

_Heel-toe. Heel-toe. Heel-toe._

Kid stops just-short of Nijima every time-- she hasn’t moved, not even to drop that stupid fucking briefcase. The longer Sojiro considers it the tackier it gets. _‘A’_ , Jesus… the only thing that could top that kinda egotism is printing “#1!” in solid gold. Or something.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [so. i catfished him.]** _

Hnnnngh.

“Sakura-san,” Mifune whispers, next to his ear. Sojiro tries valiantly to not jump, and even harder to ignore her, but she just does it again-- on the other side of the counter, Ohya’s laughing. Sojrio glares right back. “What’s ‘catfished’ mean…?”

Kawakami saves his ass. “Life lessons later,” she explains-- it’s quiet in the room, not hard to hear or be heard. “Okay?”

“No, I really want to know--”

_Bzzz._

**_UNKNOWN: [snuck a backdoor into the main server… now. lol. geek guys r all the same.]_ **

“Cheers,” Iwai chuckles, which is so out of left field it manages to startle _Nijima_. If asked, she would probably say she hadn’t yelped… well. She’d _say_ she hadn’t. “Untouchable stocks _cosplay equipment_ ,” the guy continues-- hands raised defensively, up and out of the pockets they’d been tucked into.

Sojiro can’t say he doesn’t like em better like that, not knowing what he knows about the guy— but he doesn’t like having anything in common with Nijima, either, spun around and scanning Iwai like she’s looking for something.

Probably the heat Sojiro still can’t say he isn’t packing.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [thankyou, iwai-san. ur struggle is real and ur prices are shit.]** _

“Paper trail, Oracle.” Kid winds himself any tighter, and he’s gonna snap— what _is_ that expression…?

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [dont think he has one? probably thinks electronic is more ~secure~ lol picking up EVERYTHING in here.]** _

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [who let this man near facetune.]** _

“You-- aren’t-- _thinking_. They have a paper trail. I know they have a paper trail, they--” and it’s fear, Sojiro realizes. It’s fear written on Kid’s face, fear ironing his spine ramrod straight and wrong.

Sakura Sojiro doesn’t think he’s a violent man.

_Those people…_

“The confession. The written one. I signed it… with my legal name, the one they can track back to me. I think. Don’t remember too well. Wasn’t-- all there, you know, at the time.” Kid's fists are whiteknuckled and tight to his sides. “Make them _suffer,_ burn them to the _ground_ , but they have-- _me_. They have me.”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [** _ **_]_**

“...Not… necessarily,” says Nijima, slowly.

Hell of an opening volley.

“Do share, darling.” Lala Escargot reclaims the wheel with a calm sort of elegance, but Sojiro can tell: Kid’s tension is infectious. She holds Toranosuke’s hand any harder and he’s gonna lose it-- not that he’d complain, the way he’s looking at her.

Smooth.

“Lala-chan said it,” Ohya adds, elbows on his counter. She waves her free hand (she’d collected another mug of coffee) imperiously, _get on with it,_ but this time everyone around her knows better then to take the swing head on.

The sentiment spreads through the room like a lit fuse, half-murmured _yeahs_ and _what she saids_ and _just spit it outs._ Kid doesn’t say a word, _heel-toe, heel-toe_ pacing… but his eyes are locked on Nijima _._

She crosses the room, and when she reaches Kawakami and Takemi’s booth she doesn’t set the briefcase down so much as let it fall. It breaks open with a soft _pop._

Inside is…

…not what he expects.

“Interesting taste,” Takemi snorts, a single pale hand held politely over her mouth. Kawakami has an issue of, Sojiro thinks that’s _Shounen Jump_? Pinched tight between her thumb and pointer finger, examining it with a kind of bewildered focus, like if she tries hard enough she can reconcile Prosecutor Nijima, Hardass, with shitty children’s manga.

The shitty children’s manga isn’t _alone,_ either. Even from his own, non-ideal position, Sojiro can make out a bizarre mix of candy and trading cards and shiny things, spilling out onto his table like the briefcase had been stuffed to capacity and just waiting to burst. It really is-- Sojiro admits-- such a _weird thing_ for Nijima to be carrying around, even if he’d taken her for an eccentric.

A silver briefcase, the letter ‘A’…

Hn.

Kid approaches it like you’d approach a wild animal: slow, steady, eyes carefully trained on glitzy silver metal like it might bite him. Reaches into the thing just long enough to snatch out the only item that makes any sense: a sensible white binder. He flips through it with hands that don’t shake. _“_...what the hell,” Kid laughs. “Oh, what-- what the fuck. You found it in _that_?”

Nijima shrugs, and doesn’t look Kid in the eyes. “You can imagine my surprise, when I went looking through… his... things. I was expecting… I don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t know why he took it.”

“Took--”

“-- _what_?!”

Toranosuke and Ohya, miraculously on the same wavelength. Whatever. They beat Sojiro to the same question, and everyone else too, if he’s reading the vibe right.

“The confession.” Kid plucks paper from the binder, off-white and official. Waves it a few times for good measure. “Fuck, can you _imagine_?”

Oh. Shit.

…. _’His’_ things--

Don’t think about it, Jesus.

“I know,” Nijima says, hesitant for once in her God Damned life, “that I should have destroyed the thing. Without the video _proving_ that confession was coerced, it’s dangerous-- hell, even _with_ the video, but...” she pauses. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted answers. I kept it on me, at least-- in the wrong hands, one paper can undermine an entire testimony.”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Your hubris consumes you, Prosecutor Nitwit. He’s not giving any testimony.]** _

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [and ANYWAY. u people honestly think grabbing the video was hard? they turned the camera off. i turned it back on. eyes in the sky, always. i watched the whole fucking thing.]** _

She watched the…?

Oh, God.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

He doesn’t put them there but his hands hit the counter regardless, his palms stinging. He feels-- he must look-- Toranosuke reaches across the bar to place a hand lightly on his. Christ, he’s being _pitied._ Fuck, he’s being--

Kid had been beaten half to death, she watched the _whole damn thing--_

_Bzzz._

He doesn’t _want_ to look.

_Bzzz._

But he has to. They’re his kids.

**_UNKNOWN: [They are the weak and I am the tyranny of evil men.]_ **

_**UNKNOWN: [gonna go old testament on their asses]** _

“That’s _Pulp Fiction_ and we both know it,” Kid snorts. If he didn’t know Futaba had watched… what had happened, you can’t hear it in his voice. But he’s tapping the binder. _One two three four five._ Repetitive motion usually calms him down. “Oracle, what have you been doing in there?”

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [whatever. im not stupid, if that’s what ur asking. not BOMBING everything first. dont want them to kno im in here. just switching things around. little stuff to scrub u out.]** _

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [helps that crow didnt actually tell most of the jagoffs who dogpiled u how to get out of the casino lol. there’s like 10 people who could pick u from a lineup and i got them all right here]** _

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [they wont see it coming. ]** _

Nijima stumbles, discordant enough Sojiro bothers to look up. “He _what_?” She makes a strangled sort of noise-- raises her hands like she’s going to do something with them before she decides better. “Are you-- did my _brain_ murder a bunch of--”

“Cops aren’t people, Sae-san,” Kid swings back. “Seriously, don’t think about it.”

Nijima opens her mouth. Closes it. Shudders. Not for the first time in this horrible exchange, Sojiro is more than glad he has no goddamned idea what’s going on-- well. Mostly. Jesus Christ. His kids, Jesus _Christ._

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [Seriously, Nijima, don’t think about it. God compels you.]** _

Sojiro exhales, and doesn’t think about it. Not the things that Futaba might bury. Not the things Kid might push to the back of his mind. Not any of the things they _might not think about_ , that they shouldn’t have to--

Dammit.

“It’s quite alright,” Toranosuke whispers. Quiet enough Kid can’t hear it, even if everyone else can. If that hick tries to pat his shoulder he’s kicking her out. “We’re with you too, Sakura-san.” Reaching over the bar, the man squeezes Sojiro’s hand like he needs it.

Hn.

“...and is God... compelling me to do anything else, while I’m at it…?” Sojiro almost has trouble meeting Nijima’s gaze when she drags it across the room, like she’s daring anyone else to supply the answer. “Does God have a plan? Please, feel free inform me.”

 _One two three four five_ , taps Kid. _One two three four five._

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [God thinks a lawyer should understand the court of public opinion.]** _

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [reporter-san~]** _

_Bzzz._

_Bzzz._

_Bzzz._

The only phone going off is Ohya Ichigo’s-- she scrabbles through her own pockets faster then Sojiro honestly thought she had in her. Flips through the messages. “Oh,” Ohya snorts. “I mean… oh, man.” She chuckles, laughs, slaps the counter-- “Praise _God_ ,” she wheezes. “Oh, wow. Oracle? You and me, we’re gonna get along _just fine_.”

_Bzzz._

Everyone, again.

**_UNKNOWN: [:3]_ **

Nijima closes her eyes. Sojiro knows an admission of defeat when he sees it, and some of the room’s nearly imperceptible tension unwinds. Not Kid, but they can work on that. “You know my opinions,” she says. “I want a formal conviction. This plot of yours endangers that… and if you--”

“No,” Kid replies. The tapping stops. He looks up, meets her eyes through glasses that flash. “No. I… think we’re done here, Sae-san.”

“I’m not the devil, you know,” Nijima sighs.

_Flick._

There’s Mifune’s inexhaustible pile of fucking cards-- where the hell is she keeping them all? Nijima opens her eyes in time to catch the thing mid-flight, this time. Sojiro knows what’s printed on the face without having to see. “No,” the hick laughs. “That one’s taken.”

“I see.” And just like that, she finally turns to leave. “...believe it or not, I do know when to fold. We _will_ be in touch. Don’t skip town.”

The bell jingles on her way out.

_Bzzz._

_**UNKNOWN: [u can say ur welcome now]** _

Everyone trickles out of Leblanc after that. They’re all adults-- they _all_ have jobs, even if Sojiro’s mostly amounts to playing catchup in the kitchen of the same cafe they’d staged the confrontation in. Curry won’t cook itself.

Social Niceties meant they’d all had a passing word to trade with Sojiro, or Kid, or both— to Sojiro’s ongoing bewilderment, _Toranosuke_ had given him perhaps the most awkward back-pat he’d ever received in his life, before leaving with Lala Escargot.

It’s just Mifune left, after that.

She’s standing in front of Kid— something held between her grubby hick hands-- so Sojiro holds his tongue and waits for the encounter to end. Can’t quite make out what it is… another card, he thinks, but there’s something different about this one. The back is blue, maybe, like it’s from a different deck the the ones she’d been flinging all morning.

“Nothing can truly repay the kindness you showed me, when I needed it,” she says. It’s more eloquence than _Sojiro’s_ ever heard from her, but Kid doesn’t seem much surprised. “And everyone else, too. For helping me see the truth. For not compromising your beliefs.” She holds out the card, flashing in the light. “...this isn’t all from me, but…?”

Kid examines the offering. Smiles, small and genuine. You can see straight through the glasses, for once, his eyes bright and just this side of shiny. “Thanks, Chihaya.”

Mifune smiles. “Thank _you,_ Trickster,” she replies. “For letting me walk at your side.”

Kid takes the card with his free hand, spinning quality cardstock across his knuckles— the face of the card reveals itself in bits and flashes. _Le Monde_.

And then Mifune’s gone, too, a blue butterfly trailing lazily after her.

When had that thing gotten in?

...whatever, he thinks. It’s probably not important.

It’s quiet for a while after that, the only noise in the Cafe the sound of Sojiro chopping potatoes and Kid rustling through the briefcase Nijima’d left behind. What he’s looking for… Sojiro can’t say. He doesn’t think Kid does, either.

“Hey, Boss,” Kid says, breaking the streak. “Uh,” he continues. “I didn’t mention it before. Thanks.”

“It ain’t a transaction, Kid,” Sojiro replies. “No thanks required.”

Silence.

“...still, I didn’t say it.” Kid repeats. The briefcase snaps closed with a sharp _click!_ Sojiro can hear from the kitchen. “Thanks. And, uh. What you said last night. ...did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Sojiro asks, like he doesn’t know where this is going. This kid. _Hoo boy._

“You know! That stuff you said, about staying here, instead of going-- you _know_ , back to my hometown.”

If nothing else, Kid’s handed him the easiest question in the world. “I did,” Sojiro snorts. “Wouldn’t lie about something like _that._ Now-- you gonna help me catch up, or…? _”_

The door bursts open before Kid can respond. It’s _Futaba_ , of all people, chest heaving from the effort and still in her pajamas. “You are so STUPID,” she grouses, “oh my god. Did you see that, Sojiro?! Did you see how stupid he is?!”

So Sojiro doesn’t catch up in time for the lunch rush, but-- well.

Looking at his kids, he can’t say he minds.

**Author's Note:**

> [the specter of akechi goro being dead] haunts this fic and honestly its going to be real funny when he claws his way out of the sea of souls bc futaba and joker have been making fun of his shit taste in manga. 
> 
> (bows) anyway, thank you for reading! the author does appreciate comments and kudos!


End file.
